


The One Where Sam and Dean Hunt the Missouri Monster

by story_monger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1490044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_monger/pseuds/story_monger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of disappeared dogs and descriptions of a tall, hairy creature in northern Missouri draws Dean's interest. Sam is mostly there to indulge him. Because everyone knows Momo and Bigfoot are a sham, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Sam and Dean Hunt the Missouri Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Momo, short for Missouri Monster, is an urban legend that you can read about [here](http://www.bigfootencounters.com/creatures/momo.htm). 
> 
> Set in season one and mildly cracky. I don't even know, I just wanted an upbeat case fic from back when Sam and Dean smiled.

Sam likes to think he has a pretty fine-tuned bullshit meter. He needs one, in this line of work. It does no good to be drawn in by every story of UFOs stealing someone’s cows, but once in awhile, he needs to suspend his disbelief. Just long enough to check things out, to see if an already weird world can’t get a little weirder.

This isn’t one of those times.

“Bigfoot doesn’t exist,” Sam says.

He makes his voice as deadpan as possible to counteract that _look_ Dean has.

“This isn’t Bigfoot,” Dean leans over the table and the remains of their breakfast. “It’s the Momo.”

“The Momo.”

“Missouri Monster?”

“That’s the same thing as Bigfoot,” Sam sticks his hands in his jacket pockets and slumps in his seat. “And it doesn’t exist.”

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Dean points at him

“Yes I do.”

“Nope.”

Sam tilts his head back.

“We’ve got nothing on our hands and you know _something_ killed these dogs,” Dean shakes the newspaper he’d picked up at the motel.

Sam snorts. “Bear.”

“In Missouri?”

“Dude,” Sam throws up his hands. “Bears aren’t extinct. That’s a super rural area, right? There are bears, wolves, mountain lions.”

“Yeah but does a bear…” Dean skims the paper. “Stand over seven feet tall and walk on two legs? Or carry dogs under its arms? No, because bears don’t even have arms. Hah.”

“The witnesses were probably drunk or high or both,” Sam counters.

“Nope, this was a wholesome, all-American family with kids. They all saw it, Sammy.”

Sam eyes Dean.

“Carrying dogs,” he repeats.

“Dog carcasses. Thing killed the poor bastards in the yard before hauling them off. Family saw it walking away. It’s the fourth incident of peoples’ dogs going missing or getting killed, far as the reporter figured, but the first time anyone saw anything.”

And Sam admits, if it’s true, then it’s a little odd. Not inexplicable, but odd. It brings his internal bullshit meter from “high” to “moderately high.”

“Ok,” Sam shifts in his seat. “Say something supernatural is killing dogs. Fine. But really Dean, Bigfoot?”

“Tall, hairy two-legged thing? I mean, I might say Wendigo but those suckers pretty much stick to human meat.” Dean must sense that he’s gained a foothold because he adds, “Look, it’s literally a two hour drive from here. We’ll ask a few questions and head out if it looks like a dud.”

“It _is_ a dud,” Sam mutters. Then, reluctantly, “Can’t do FBI for this, can we?”

Dean grins.

“I’ve got something even better.”

“What?” Sam drags the word out.

“Sammy, you and me are writing a book about crazy shit that happens in the Midwest,” Dean stands up, drops a few coins on the table, and slaps Sam’s shoulder with the rolled up newspaper. “It’s perfect.”

Sam doesn’t budge for a few seconds before he stands and follows. Just to prove a point.

* * *

Northern Missouri is a beautiful place, Sam has to admit. None of the houses look younger than 30 years, the sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at it, and they pass more than one Amish horse and buggy. Yet between the farmhouses and neatly planted fields of corn and soybean, he can see the land’s wildness still. God’s Country, Sam thinks.

Mercer County, just south of the Missouri-Iowa border, isn’t what Sam would call a major center of activity. Its largest town, Princeton, has a population of a little over 1,000. It also has a respectable little diner, in which Sam and Dean order coffee and settle in to listen.

It’s a sunny, early spring Thursday, but the diner still has enough traffic to keep its two waitresses and cook moving. Around them, people complain about the latest county government decisions, discuss how the crops are getting on, ask after wives and husbands, crack jokes, and share gossip. Bill O’Reilly interviews someone on the little TV in the upper corner and a battered oscillating fan sits in the corner. The place is as typical small-town as it can get, Sam considers. Ideal for monster activity.

Dean gets the ball rolling when one of the waitresses circles around to top off their mugs.

“Crazy story with those dogs,” Dean taps the newspaper he’d brought along from Moberly.

“I know,” the waitress says; she draws out the “o” with a little twang that is, admittedly, endearing. She leans over the counter slightly. “Is that the paper from Moberly? Didn’t know the story had gotten that far.” She sounds pleased at the idea.

“Well it’s the kind of weird that people just love, in’t it?” Dean’s voice, already a little more drawling and loose than Sam’s, relaxes even more to mirror the waitress’s. “I mean c’mon. Are we lookin’ at a bear that walks around on two legs? Or maybe a tall dude who needs a shave and a therapist.”

The waitress snorts.

Sam looks at the ceiling when Dean briefly throws his smile in Sam’s direction.

“Well you know what everyone’s starting to worry about,” the waitresses sets down her coffee pot. “If this thing gets tired of dogs and starts thinkin’ about livestock, if it’s big enough.”

“Y’all own livestock?” Dean asks.

“Me an’ Pete are more with the row crop but we raise some hogs, yeah,” the waitress nods. “Pete’s not nervous ‘bout it yet but we’ve been double checking the barn door every night, y’know?”

“Mm,” Dean nods, all sympathy.

“Y’all from around here?” the waitress asks.

“Not really,” Dean shifts on his stool and gestures to Sam. “From Kansas. We’re actually travelling, doing research for a book about urban legends of the Midwest.”

“Yeah?” the waitress is grinning like Dean’s just initiated some inside joke. “You think Bigfoot’s got a taste for dog?”

“Ma’am,” Dean toasts her with his coffee mug. “You’ve read our minds.”

“You guys believers?” she grins harder.

“The book is more a collection of the legends,” Sam jumps in. “We’re not…y’know, Bigfoot hunters.”

“Never hurts to take a look though,” Dean kicks at Sam. “All part of the field reporting method.”

Sam would give money to know where the hell Dean came up with the term “field reporting.”

“So lemme guess,” the waitress places on hand on her hip. “You’re sniffing out for some folks to talk to.”

Dean opens his arms, his hands splayed, and that smile on his face that makes people fall in love with him.

“Sarah?” the cook calls from the kitchen.

“Here,” the waitress—Sarah—grabs a napkin and scrawls something on it with her flowered pen. “This isn’t the guy in that article; he’s real private and won’t want to talk to you. But Nathan, he’ll chat this stuff all day long.”

She slides the napkin across the countertop to reveal ‘Nathan Cadwell.’

“He’ll be in the phone book,” Sarah supplies.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Dean effuses. Sarah grins again and then hurried back to the kitchen.

“We’re in business,” Dean waves the napkin. When they leave, Dean leaves an extra big tip.

* * *

When they find Nathan’s phone number and call him up, he doesn’t take long to invite them to his farm that afternoon. Dean happily informs Sam that Nathan sounds like “a real cheerful, chatty type.”

As they drive out into the countryside, a map of Missouri spread over Sam’s lap, Sam imagined a old, hunched guy with a grizzled beard and conspiracy theories about UFOs and the government masterminding 9/11.

Around three in the afternoon, Dean pulls the Impala in front of a ranch style house with hyacinths and vincas in the front yard. A dirt path—well trod by something with big wheels—leads down to a collection of three barns.

As Dean and Sam emerge from the car, Sam spots a small face disappear from one of the front windows. A minute later, a boy opens the front door. He looks to be eleven or twelve. He’s brown as a nut and his face is all wind-scrubbed fresh. He is, Sam thinks, some representation of the classic farm boy.

Behind him trails a girl who looks to be a few years younger.

“You gen’lemen the ones dad’s gonna talk to?” she hollers across the yard.

“Yes ma’am,” Dean hollers back.

The girl and boy make their way across the yard—the boy slouches and the girl marches—until they’re both peering up at Sam and Dean. Dean goes into a crouch and stick out a hand.

“My name’s Dean Winchester,” he says.

The boy takes his hand and says, “I’m Nolan Cadwell. Nice to meetcha.” His voice is husky, and is probably starting to break. Sam sympathizes.

“My name is Georgie Cadwell,” the girl says, “and I have a boy name because my real name is Georgiana and you’re really only called that if you wear petticoats and drink tea, I think.”

“Absolutely,” Dean shakes her hand too.

“Who’re you?” Georgie shoots at Sam.

“Sam.”

“Sam what?”

“Sam Winchester.”

Nolan and Georgie look between Sam and Dean with heightened interest.

“Cousins or brothers?” Nolan asks.

“Brothers,” Dean stand and nudges Sam’s side with his elbow. “I bet you can’t guess who the older one is.”

Sam resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“You,” Georgie points at Sam, but Nolan knocks her with his shoulder.

“Taller doesn’t mean older for grown-ups,” he says, and he has so much of that older-brother tone that Sam has to stifle a laugh.

“Oh.” Georgie points at Dean. “You.”

“Bingo,” Dean grins.

“Cool,” Georgie sounds satisfied in a practical way, like she’s found one more fact about the world and can now store it her arsenal. “Well, mom’s still at work so we’re going to take you down to see dad”

“Alrighty.” Dean locks the Impala, and he and Sam follow the siblings down the dirt road. Georgie asks questions and Nolan mostly listens.

“And how old are you?” Georgie asks Sam as they step into the coolness of one of the barns. It smells musty and vaguely like hay and manure. A combine looms above them.

“Twenty-three,” Sam tells her.

“So you’re…four years apart,” Georgie says. “That’s how far apart Nolan and Sonja are, but Nolan and me are three years apart.”

“Sonja’s your older sister?” Sam asks.

“Mm hm. She’s in high school and then Kathy’s in college. Did you go to college?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did.”

(Sam doesn’t look at Dean when he says this.)

“I get worried that Kathy’s going to be lonely. She’s not good at making friends.” Georgie says this in a serious tone, like a mother clucking over her children. Sam clears his throat.

“She’ll figure it out,” he says. “You kind of get to reinvent yourself in college. She’ll find some people.” Georgie scrunches her nose, but she nods.

Sam chances a glance at Dean, but his brother is peering at the other end of the barn. When Sam looks too, he finds not a grizzled old creeper but a barrel-chested man in his early forties. He’s setting down what looks like a wrench and striding across the barn. As he gets closer, Sam finds a ruddy, Irish face, a grimy t-shirt from Joe’s BBQ, and a John Deere cap.

“Hey there,” the man who Sam can only assume is Nathan Cadwell calls out. “Dean Winchester?”

“The same.”

Sam and Dean shake hands with Nathan while Nolan and Georgie stand nearby and watch.

“Thanks for indulging us at such late notice,” Dean says.

“Nah, you picked a good time of year to bother me,” Nathan says genially. “Just got planting done so I’m mostly doing maintenance this week.” He gestures to a collection of overturned paint buckets. “You mind if we sit out here? Jane made me swear not to let you in the house with the state it’s in.”

“I’m sure we’ve seen worse,” Sam says, but he and Dean take their seats on the overturned pain buckets. Nolan and Georgie claim two more, and by then it’s clear that Sam and Dean represent the best entertainment value they have that afternoon.

“So,” Nathan braces his hands on his knees. “Missouri Monster. You’re not those loonies who believe in that shit, are you?”

Sam shoots a glance at Dean. Dean opens his mouth. Georgie and Nolan are grinning like crazy. Sam sees where they get it when Nathan breaks into a grin as well.

“Ah hah,” Dean shakes a finger. “You had me for a second.”

“I’m just reveling in this a little,” Nathan leans back, grin still in place. “How often do a couple of strangers call wanting to talk about Momo?”

“Yeah our work is a little unusual,” Dean nods. “But for the record. I’d completely ready to believe. Sam here,” Dean nudged Sam’s knee with his own. “He’s more science-minded. Needs some proof.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Nathan nods at Sam. “’Fraid I don’t have any proof I can show you now, but I’ve seen the Momo. I’d swear that on the Bible if Jane let me.”

“Want to tell us the story?” Dean asks.

“I’ve had two incidents,” Nathan nods. “Once was, oh, when Georgie was in second grade, so three years ago. I was coming out of the house real early, just after dawn, when I saw something about 400 yards away, in that corn field right near the house. I saw it, I thought I was looking at a loose cow? But it was too big for that, and it took me a minute to realize that it was upright. But it was dark all over, and not the right shape for a human being.” Nathan shrugs and widens his eyes. “I dunno, what does that sound like to you?”

“Could be a bear,” Sam offers.

“I’m not going to count that out,” Nathan allows. “But this was one coordinated bear, because I watched that thing walk across the field and then out of sight. It stayed upright the whole time.”

Sam glances over at Nolan and Georgie, and they’re watching their father with studied concentration.

“Now the second time,” Nathan continues, “my oldest, Kathy was here. But she’s down in Springfield so I guess I don’t have any backup with me. But we were doing the harvesting last year in a field about ten minutes south of here. It was getting around dusk, and suddenly she tugged at my sleeve and pointed to the edge of the field. Well there’s this thing again. Tall, black, upright. Still not human-shaped but close enough, you get my meaning? It must have seen us because it disappeared pretty quick, and it was dark anyway. But that wasn’t anything I’d recognize as local wildlife.”

“So these dogs disappearing,” Dean says. “What d’you think of that?”

“Ah.” Nathan leans forward. “See, this is what don’t add up to me. These are dogs that have been killed or stolen in twos and threes. See, for a mountain lion or a bear, that’s a pack. That’s not something you mess with. They should _avoid_ the packs of dogs and try to pick off a calf or something. But guess what? No one’s been complaining about livestock disappearing. Nah, it don’t make any sense to kill a predator animal when there are prey animals right there.”

“Dad always says that there’s a lot of wilderness out there,” Georgie pipes up. “We’ve got wolves and everything and it’s not so hard to believe that there’s something living out there we don’t know about.”

“It’s God’s Country,” Nolan adds.

Nathan shrugs.

“From the mouths of babes,” he says.

“I’m not a babe,” Georgie objects.

“’Course not,” Nathan agrees.

Dean looks over at Sam, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.

* * *

An hour later, they’re still sitting the barn chatting away about the possible relationship between Bigfoot and the Sasquatch. Or, Dean and Nathan are chatting. Sam is listening and mentally flipping through anything that might explain what Nathan saw. Again, Wendigo is coming to mind, but if that were the case, Sam doubts that Nathan would be alive today.

A car engine echoes from the driveway, and Nolan and Georgie stand up.

“Die mutter is home,” Georgie calls out before she and her brother sprint from the barn in some race that, Sam imagines, no one else is really supposed to understand anyway.

“Georgie’s been getting German lessons at school,” Nathan tells Sam and Dean as he stands too. “She thinks she’s real clever using it.”

“Those little siblings, think they’ve got their shit all pulled together,” Dean shakes his head. Sam grins at the ground.

“See, I was smack dab in the middle of five kids,” Nathan starts leading them to the barn entrance. “That’s a whole other can of issues.”

A blue Lincoln sits next to the Impala and a woman with cropped hair is pulling a paper grocery bag from the back seat. Georgie and Nolan are talking to her, though their exact words are muffled. The woman straightens, spots the three men, and hands the bag off to Nolan.

“Hey,” she strides forward and extends a hand as Nolan heads to the house behind her. “I’m Jane. You’re the Winchesters?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sam shakes her hand and Dean follows suite.

“We’ve been discussing all manner of useless, supernatural shenanigans,” Nathan tells her, and he receives an exasperated smile.

“It’s probably for the best,” Jane waves a hand. “Gets it out of his system and then we don’t need to hear about for a few months.”

“I like talking about Momo,” Georgie says.

“You started homework?” Jane asks her. “Or were you hanging out with these fellas all afternoon?”

“An hour. Not all afternoon,” Georgie says, but she scoots away as she speaks.

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” Jane turns back to Sam and Dean as her daughter makes a break for the house. “The house is a pigsty.”

“We’re two bachelors living out of our car right now,” Dean offers. “A pigsty would be a step up.”

Jane laugh is loud and real, and Sam is smiling at her almost without realizing it.

* * *

Dinner with the Cadwells is loud, but in the best way. The high schooler, Sonja, appears just before dinner starts (she’s in the school play, as it turns out, and rehearsal ran late) and proves to be an older version of Georgie. All through dinner, the three siblings have a whole lineup of old arguments and nicknames and insults and stories of when so-and-so peed their pants at the state fair. It’s a performance; Sam remembers doing this kind of thing with Dean when they were kids, presenting exaggerated versions of themselves to strangers, because they were still trying to establish who exactly they were. It’s endearing and it’s fun and Sam decides that even if this whole investigation turns into nothing, it got them in this kitchen eating pulled pork with this family, and that counts for something.

Somehow, Jane finagles Sam and Dean into accepting the pullout sofa for the night (“God, you think there’s anywhere else to stay? We’re in the extreme boonies; it’s all woods and farmland out there.”)

The next morning, Georgie, Nolan, and Sonja make sure to say goodbye before heading to school. Jane fries them bacon and tells them at least three times to stop trying to wriggle out of breakfast, it’s her bacon and she gets to cook it for whomever she likes.

“Don’t resist,” Nathan stage whispers. “She’s stronger than me.”

When it’s time to head out, Dean asks after the nearest grocery store along with the hearty thank yous for the hospitality.

“That’s a great family,” Dean says as he pulls the Impala into the main road. “Seriously, we need more cases in Mercer County.”

“Nah,” Sam settles back in his seat. “Better that the worst they have is something eating dogs.”

Dean glances over at Sam.

“Is that a confession that this hasn’t been a waste of time?” he asks.

“We don’t have any definitive proof at all,” Sam says slowly. “But I’m willing to believe there might be something unusual out there. Maybe.”

Dean nods once, pops Led Zepplin into the cassette player, and asks Sam about those directions that Nathan gave them to the nearest grocery store.

Dean is planning something; it’s plain as anything. But Sam is in too genial a mood to push it. Instead, he follows Dean into the grocery store a half hour later and watches him buy several raw, bloody steaks. It’s a bit of a miracle that Sam holds his tongue.

After that, it’s a stop at the nearby McDonalds. Not for food, as it turns out, but for Dean to bring in their laptop and other research miscellanea, set them up at a table, and say, “Let’s try and narrow this down a little.”

By the end of the research session, they both have to admit that the array of monsters fitting under the description of “tall, hairy, eats dogs,” is inconclusive.

“I mean there are dogmen in some legends that fit the large and hairy part, but you’d think they would be friendly with dogs and not want to eat them.” Sam slouches back in his chair. “Besides that, I got nothing.”

“Right,” Dean frowns at the opposite window, fingers caged over his mouth.

“Okay,” Sam leans forward again. “The steaks. You want to use them as bait, don’t you?”

“Hey, sometimes the best ideas are the most obvious,” Dean pulls his hand from his mouth.

“This might be one creature in…acres of land,” Sam points out. “It might not even realize the meat is there.”

“Or it does, and then it come to chow and we find out what we’re dealing with.”

“It’ll attract any carnivore in the area.”

“So we shoo them away. We’ll be right there,” Dean shrugs.

Sam drops his head and grins at the table.

“You’re convinced this is Momo,” he says.

“You know, think of this as the hunter’s version of Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy,” Dean leans back and flashes a quiet grin at Sam. “Everyone _knows_ it’s not real but, y’know, what if it is?”

(Sam doesn’t think it’d be appropriate to say that that’s why Sam still prays, in case Dean was wondering. God and His angels shouldn’t be real but, y’know, what if they are?)

Sam sighs and throws up a hand in defeat.

“Okay. Let’s look for Bigfoot,” he says.

* * *

Sam triangulates the known dog-killing incidents, throws in Nathan’s observations, and suggests that they try for a wooded corner of the county, not far from where they are now.

“It’d make sense that it lives the forest,” Sam says as they drive to the location. “It can pop out for food at night and probably sleep all day.”

The area is privately owned, naturally, but Sam trusts in Dean’s talking-himself-out-of-shit skills. If an angry farmer finds them, they can play dumb and apologetic. The woods aren’t especially thick or old. It takes a while to find and area that’s not overrun by honeysuckle, with a tree that they can perch in yet slip out of quickly and efficiently. The bark digs into Sam’s butt and back, but it’s far from the worse stakeout position he’s had.

By the time their haphazard Momo trap is ready to go, dusk is gathering. Sam and Dean share a couple packs of beef jerky for dinner.

“I’d love to see dad or Bobby’s faces right now,” Sam says at one point. “Coupla idiots sitting in a tree waiting for the Momo to miraculously find their lousy pile of meat.”

“Hey, that is prime, Missouri-grown, grass-fed beef,” Dean scolds. “Only the finest for Missouri’s favorite monster.”

As far as stakeouts go, this one is relatively relaxed. It helps that they’re not too worried about anything eating them.

They watch a few deer wander past, scads of squirrels and birds, and once a coyote that obviously is drawn by the meat but also senses the humans in the trees and decides against the endeavor.

“Wonder if this thing smells well,” Dean mutters at one point. “Might stay away if it smells us.” Sam offers a wordless shrug.

Around nine, something shuffles in the leaf litter below them. Sam assumes it’s another deer, but flips on his light anyway. He finds a black mass rooting at the pile of meat. But it’s low and rounded and—

“It’s a black bear,” Dean says. Sam and hear him smiling. “Holy fuck, we actually got a black bear.”

The bear grunts and looks up at them, but it must not consider them any kind of threat because it goes right back to the meat. Neither Sam nor Dean make any motion to shoo it away. It’s too fascinating to watch something so obviously untamable and potentially dangerous. John had taken Sam and Dean to Yellowstone once, but they hadn’t been lucky enough to see a bear, just a buttload of bison.

The bear lifts its head and peers to its right, and that’s the only warning Sam and Dean get for the thing that comes barreling out of the trees.

This thing is upright. And it’s definitely hairy. And it’s way too tall, maybe seven or eight feet. Sam stares, gun slack in one hand, as the upright thing—Sam’s brain refuses to call it a Momo at this point—makes a guttural sound at the bear. The bear takes a step back, as if it’s assessing the situation, then slinks away.

And that. That right there should say something, Sam manages to think. When a top predator backs up? A human ought to be looking out.

And then the upright thing lifts its face and looks right at them. The flashlight is strong enough that it doesn’t spare a whole lot of details.

The first thing Sam thinks is that it shouldn’t look so human. From his day full of reading about Bigfoot, he’d been expecting something like an overgrown gorilla. This…this is closer to Neanderthal. This is something absolutely related to him, species-wise. Not even a distant cousin, like a chimp is, but a genetic sibling. It’s right in the middle of uncanny valley, and maybe that’s why Sam gets such a sense of disturbedness.

Sam can smell it too; a deep musk that is not as unpleasant as it is alien.

And then the creature _says_ something, and that tips everything over the edge. It’s not in any language Sam understands, but the inflection sounds too much like words. Forget being disturbed, this is outright weird.

Dean makes some sound and swings his pistol toward the creature. The creature pauses, then waves a hand—not in the way one would say hello, more like how one says “whatever, move along”—and then bends down and starts collecting the steaks. Neither Sam nor Dean move, eyes glued on the businesslike way that the creature collects the goods.

When the second one steps into view, Sam decides not to be surprised by anything else he sees that night.

The first creature looks up at the second, then gestures with a hand clutching a steak. The two bend their heads in what might be conversation, then both look up at Sam and Dean.

And Dean, of course, waves at them, however meekly. His wave is the kind to say hello. The two creatures stare.

And then the second creature lifts a hand and waves hello. If Sam is reading the thing's face the right way, it looks amused.

Its companion grunts, looking unimpressed. It hands the second creature two of the steaks, they both shoot Sam and Dean another look, and then they’re traipsing into the woods with loud crackles of leaf litter.

Sam and Dean don’t move at all until the crackles have faded away, and then some.

Sam breaks the silence first.

“Fuck me,” he says. “We found Momo.”

“Do we…” Sam looks up to find Dean staring at him through a few branches. “Do we tell someone about this?”

Sam opens his mouth, closes it, then shrugs.

“Maybe there’s a colony,” Dean breathes. His face is visibly pale. “Or a village. Would that work? A whole group of these things out in _Missouri_ and no one knows about it?”

“You know what?” Sam rubs at his forehead. “I’m really not in any place to call anything impossible, at this point.”

“Right,” Dean still sounds dazed. “Goddamn it, this has to be some kind of first for a hunter. I’ve never heard of anyone mentioning Momo _seriously_.”

“Everyone was too smart to bother looking for it,” Sam says. Then, because the thought’s been on his mind ever since the thing looked up at him, “I don’t wanna kill them.”

“No,” Dean agrees. “I mean it sucks about the dogs but that’s been a recent thing. Maybe it’s not normal for them.”

“Far as we know they aren’t killing people.” Sam leans forward to see Dean’s face better. “We can leave them alone if they’re not hunting people, right?”

“I think so,” Dean says. “Probably.” Then, “It fucking _waved_ at me.”

They stare at one another.

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Dean rushes. “If we start seeing too many mysterious deaths in this area we come back.”

“Ok,” Sam nods.

“’Till then we let them alone.”

“Ok,” Sam repeats.

They sit in the dark for another long time, as if climbing out of the tree might disturb something important. As it turns out, they sit there long enough to watch the sun rise over the forest.

It’s beautiful, Sam has to admit. The trees are tinted rose, the birds are getting warmed up, a few miles away the Cadwells are just waking up, and somewhere in the Missouri wilderness, at least one pair of Momos are eating grass-fed, raw steak.

 _God’s Country_ , Sam thinks, and grins right into the rising sunlight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> We're ignoring that one episode where Sam says Bigfoot doesn't exist, yes?


End file.
